I don’t recall half of what’s written here. All of it is a blur now, but what I do remember is that writing this journal helped not only me but many others who read it every time I put a daily post up. We were in this together, and everyone either had the same feelings or could empathise. I didn’t intend to publish it, but folks asked that I did, so here we are.
I haven’t read this through, haven’t touched it since writing each post except to format it, and if there are typos or things like book titles that aren’t in italics, please forgive me—some of the posts were lifted straight off the platform I wrote them on, and some things didn’t carry over. I haven’t got it in me to read through this again at the moment. I didn’t run this by an editor. It’s raw, as it happened, and changing anything would seem wrong somehow. I want this diary to represent me during a time when the world went so very wrong. It’s something generations in my family can read as the years roll by and I’m long dead. For those relations who come after I’m gone, perhaps they can get to know me this way, and know that if I were there, I’d love them with all my heart.
Thank you to everyone who walked this journey with me. I can honestly say, without writing these posts, without seeing all your comments every day, lockdown and the pandemic would have been a much darker place.
Here are the musing of one author who needed an outlet. There may be boring parts, sections where you wonder why you’re reading such drivel, but I hope you get as much out of this as I did, as my readers did, when we were all scared out of our minds, needing a shoulder to lean on.
Best wishes,
Em
I haven’t read this through, haven’t touched it since writing each post except to format it, and if there are typos or things like book titles that aren’t in italics, please forgive me—some of the posts were lifted straight off the platform I wrote them on, and some things didn’t carry over. I haven’t got it in me to read through this again at the moment. I didn’t run this by an editor. It’s raw, as it happened, and changing anything would seem wrong somehow. I want this diary to represent me during a time when the world went so very wrong. It’s something generations in my family can read as the years roll by and I’m long dead. For those relations who come after I’m gone, perhaps they can get to know me this way, and know that if I were there, I’d love them with all my heart.
Thank you to everyone who walked this journey with me. I can honestly say, without writing these posts, without seeing all your comments every day, lockdown and the pandemic would have been a much darker place.
Here are the musing of one author who needed an outlet. There may be boring parts, sections where you wonder why you’re reading such drivel, but I hope you get as much out of this as I did, as my readers did, when we were all scared out of our minds, needing a shoulder to lean on.
Best wishes,
Em
Used availability for Emmy Ellis's The Herald